


The Greatest Sacrifice

by Pfain Ryder (Cat_Moon)



Category: Quantum Leap
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-07-08 05:29:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19864276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cat_Moon/pseuds/Pfain%20Ryder
Summary: Post Mirror Image, Sam finds himself in Al's bar again.  There's a new person in charge now, and Sam has to face a lot of hard truths.  Things turn out very differently this time.





	The Greatest Sacrifice

**Author's Note:**

> This is the story that my QL pseud came from.

_...So I'm sailing for tomorrow, my dreams are a'dying._

_And my love is an anchor tied to you, tied with a silver chain._

\--Southern Cross, Crosby Stills & Nash

_This one's on me, kid._

Sam found himself, suddenly, back outside of Al's bar. He walked through the now-familiar door, expecting to see the stocky bartender in his usual place, serving drinks. Instead, a small woman with red hair stood there.

"Where's Al?" Sam asked.

"Let's just say he's off duty. It's _my_ shift." There was an odd emphasis on the proclamation.

Sam nodded, accepting the situation, and sat down at the bar.

"Want a beer? We've got Schlitz, Iron City, Ducane, Fort Pitt, and Bud."

"You have Bud?" Sam asked in amazement.

"We do on _my_ shift."

"I'll take the Bud."

"I thought you might." She brought the requested beer over. As Sam started to take out his wallet, the redhead waved it away. "This one's on me."

"Thanks, uh, what's your name, anyway? What do I call you?"

"You can call me Pfain, Sam."

"Pain?"

The woman chuckled. "Oh, sometimes. It's pronounced Faan. It's European."

Sam drank his beer, as the silence lengthened like the shadows on the wall. "Where is everybody?" he finally asked.

Pfain glanced around the room. "Things don't start hopping till later."

"Oh, yeah. Everyone's still at work." Sam glanced at the clock. More silence followed. "So, what happens now?" he prompted.

"What do you _want_ to happen?"

Sam considered the question for a moment, started to speak, then paused. Finally: "I just thought things would be...different. I don't know. Why am I back here?"

"You ask a lot of questions for someone who doesn't want to hear the answers."

"I _do_ want to know the answers," the time-traveler insisted.

The bartender shook her head. "The truth could be right under your nose, and you'll only see what you want to see, no matter what anyone says."

"Is the truth right under my nose?"

"What do you think?"

Sam mumbled to himself, then spoke up. "I think I feel like I'm in session with Verbena." Then, louder, "I hate it when someone answers a question with another question. Actually, I'm getting tired of this whole thing. Al the bartender said the leaps would be getting harder. I want to know why I'm here and not on another leap."

"Because, my friend, you don't want to be." Pfain held up a hand to forestall Sam's response. "And don't ask me why not, ask yourself."

"More of that 'I'm controlling the leaping myself crap'?"

"I rest my case." Pfain turned away and started wiping glasses. After a moment, she seemed to take a good look at what she was doing, shook herself, and put them down in disgust. "God, I've been hanging around Al too long, I'm starting to act like him." She gazed at Sam steadily. "I'm not trying to jerk your chain, but you've got to stop being so dense. Why don't you ask what you really want to know?"

"So you can answer it with another question?"

"I only tell the truth, Sam."

Sam turned his attention to his beer, drinking in silence while Pfain fiddled with the radio, apparently looking for a good station. When Unchained Melody came on, she settled on that station. "Well, what do ya know?" she said with a grin. "I always listen very carefully to what's on the radio. You might think I'm crazy, but I take them as personal messages. Almost plan my life by them, sometimes."

The words and melody filled the air, a song which hadn't even been written yet, but Sam didn't bother questioning it. It was just another of the many odd things about the place. But something about the song disturbed him...

Sam gulped his beer and held the glass out for another. "Did it work? Did Beth wait for Al?" he blurted.

"Did you want her to?"

Sam glared.

Pfain pointed her finger almost into Sam's face, and leaned closer. "Did you _want_ her to?" Then she leaned back again. "Yes, she did, as a matter of fact. They're still married."

A question asked, a question answered. But Sam hadn't answered his.

"Have another beer, my friend." Pfain refilled a glass Sam hadn't realized was empty already. "Just put a dollar on the bar. I'll keep 'em coming and let you know when it runs out."

Sam did as told. "How long am I going to be sitting here?"

Pfain shrugged. "How should I know?"

"Don't tell me, let me guess--as long as I want to. Right?"

Another shrug, as she poured herself a glass of beer.

The silence went on, compelling Sam to fill it. He sighed heavily. "Let's just say--just for the sake of conversation--that you're right. Why wouldn't I want to go home?" Before Pfain could answer, he continued. "And don't throw my words back at me. I'm asking your opinion."

"Oh, you want my opinion?" Sam nodded. "Why didn't you say so?"

"Hit me again," Sam said, pushing his empty glass forward.

Pfain refilled the glass. "Well, it appears to me that it's pretty simple. There's something you don't want to face."

"Like what?"

"You want someone to hand you all the answers on a silver platter, don't you Sam? Well that's not the way life works. Now it's your turn to give an opinion. What do you think you might not want to face?"

Sam shifted uncomfortably, looking away. "I don't know," he mumbled.

"You're lying," Pfain said, so bluntly Sam's head flew up. "And that's not just an opinion. Throughout this whole thing, you keep insisting nothing is under your control, that you have no idea what's going on. You want someone to take your life out of your hands, to give you all the answers and take away your choices. Why?"

"I'm dangerous when I have choices," Sam found himself whispering.

"Aren't we all."

"But--" he cut off abruptly.

"But what? Why do you think you're dangerous when you have choices?"

Instead of answering that question, Sam chose to return to something else, like a bee buzzing around, always returning to that certain flower...or maybe it was like a fly, returning again and again to the same pile of shit.

Or, perhaps he was answering the question.

"You asked me what I was afraid of facing, then called me a liar. Okay, I admit it. There are things... I changed so much," he murmured emotionally. "My life...I don't even know what my life is like anymore. My family...God, I have a daughter who doesn't even know I'm her father! A wife I've practically abandoned, cheated on. Tom is alive and Maggie is dead."

"Do you feel guilty about that?"

"Wouldn't you?" Sam almost shouted.

"If I recall, you weren't the one who made that decision."

"Yes, I did. It was my idea to bring her along on the mission. She'd still be alive, if it weren't for me."

"I can see that you have a lot to feel guilty about. But do you think you're the only one who feels guilt?"

Sam bowed his head. "Al..." he whispered. He felt the booze fogging his mind, loosening his tongue.

"Yeah, he's got a pretty well-honed guilt complex as well. You two are a pair all right," Pfain chuckled. "A _pair_ ," she repeated, with what Sam thought was a strange inflection. "You've had to keep this all inside, haven't you? No one to talk to about it."

"Most of the time, I didn't even remember any of it," Sam pointed out wryly.

"But you knew," Pfain held her hand over her heart, "in here, didn't you?"

"Yes," Sam whispered. "I know."

"It may be hard but at least, like you told Al, you always do the right thing."

Sam shook his head violently, feeling the guilt overwhelm him. "No. I lied about that. Sometimes...sometimes I do what I want. Like with Maggie. And...and Al."

"Tell me about it," Pfain said gently, putting a fresh beer down in front of Sam. Her voice was sympathetic, soothing, impossible to deny.

"The first time I leaped into Beth's life, I...when I found out who her husband was, I was so angry with Al for lying to me..."

"Understandable, Sam. I'd be upset, if my best friend lied to me and used me."

"It wasn't his fault, he was hurting. I didn't consider his pain as much as I should have," Sam mourned. "Then I turned around in the next two leaps and did what I wanted, for _me_. I'm a hypocrite."

"At least you finally made it right. Gave up your chance to go home to make it right."

"Did I?" Sam snapped. "You don't think I even want to go home. And maybe you're right. That's not so much of a sacrifice, is it?"

"Maybe it is."

The quiet words were underscored by the tone they were delivered with, spearing Sam's heart with something like panic.

"No! I--I have to go." He started to get up.

Pfain reached out, stopping him with firm hands on his shoulders. "Where are you gonna go?" she pointed out. "You can't run away from yourself, Sam. Take it easy, it's okay. Here, have another beer."

He settled uncertainly on the stool again, looking at Pfain warily.

"Let it all out, Sam. You'll feel better in the morning."

He slumped over, as if all the fight had gone out of him. "It wasn't just that I was worried about Jake, or that I believed I wasn't there to help Al. Part of me...didn't want to." The last was almost inaudible.

"It's okay Sam, I can promise you that. Now, why didn't you want to?"

"Because I'm selfish," Sam spat in self-loathing. "I was afraid if I changed that history for Al, then he wouldn't be there any longer. That...that I'd lose him." He wiped at his face with a sleeve, and took another gulp from his glass. "Anything could have happened," he said, almost pleadingly. "He would have done things differently, maybe we'd never even have met!"

"So it wasn't going home that you sacrificed to give Al Beth back, it was _Al_."

"Al means more to me than going home. You know that, don't you." It wasn't a question.

"Did you make this greatest sacrifice because you wanted to, or out of guilt?"

A single tear trickled down Sam's cheek. "I never wanted to lose Al. He's all I have."

"But you're not all _he_ has anymore."

Sam turned his head away angrily.

"Maybe he isn't all you have. You have a wife, a big family, including a daughter. There are a lot of people--"

"Maybe I liked it that way!" Sam yelled into Pfain's face. Stunned by the intensity of his own reaction, he gulped down the rest of his beer and slammed the glass on the bar in a demand for more.

Pfain refilled his glass silently.

"You keep picking away until you know every goddamned thing, don't you? You're worse than a shrink!"

Pfain smiled. "I don't think you really believe that. It's not me who needs the answers. I'm just a, a guide, if you will."

"Al's my guide!" Sam shouted, then, in a meeker, pleading voice, "Isn't he?"

Instead of answering, Pfain turned away. But what Sam had seen briefly in her expression...

Sam reached over the bar and grabbed her by the shoulders, a tangent letting loose. "No! You can't take him away from me! It isn't fair! I know I made a deal, but... I can't make it without him," he finished in a small, defeated voice, slumping back. "I was hoping, maybe...since I'd done such a good, selfless thing, that he'd maybe...stay married to her, but I'd still have him here as my hologram."

"That's not how sacrifices work."

"Okay. What more do you want from me, anyway? Supposedly I'm controlling things...but if I was, Al would be here."

"I wonder."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Going home is a good thing, but you don't seem to want that, either. Because of things you're afraid of facing."

"So let me get this straight. According to you, I don't want Al here because of something I'm afraid to face."

Pfain rubbed her face with her hands. "You wear me out, Beckett. You both wear me out."

"Why? Because I won't play your stupid games?"

Pfain snorted. "What'd you say your I.Q. was??" She sighed wearily. "Listen, I can't give you the answers. Hear me? Not won't, can't. You have to do it. Believe me, if I could I would--and end this torture. You're the quantum leaper from hell, Beckett. And now you've gone and spoiled the mood we'd built up, when we were so close. I'll have to start all over."

"Don't bother. I'm tired of questions, I don't want answers. I don't care. All I want is..." He fell silent.

"All you want is what?" Pfain prompted in that incessant way of hers.

"Al. All I want is Al." The admission hung in the stale air like a cloud of smoke.

"Now that wasn't so hard, was it? I bet your mother went through hell trying to get you to take your medicine when you were a kid, didn't she?"

Sam pinned her with a stare. "Did you hear what I just said? Do you realize what I _mean_?"

Pfain gazed at Sam a moment, picked up a rolled newspaper from the end of the bar and whacked herself in the head with it, then shook her head vigorously.

"Okay. I love him. I admit it."

"Not good enough," Pfain baited.

"I'm in love with Al Calavicci!" Sam announced very loudly to the empty room, with a mixture of aggravation and pride. Then he deflated a little, turning his sick puppy gaze on the bartender. "Is it wrong?" he asked, desperate for the answer.

"Do you think it is?"

"I've never been prejudiced. Never considered love wrong, no matter how it's expressed." Sam sighed. "I guess I was just..."

"Afraid?" Pfain finished for him, meaningfully.

"That's why I was afraid to face him," Sam said, almost to himself. "He...Al loves Beth," he added with sad certainty. He stared mournfully into his drink.

"You were right before, you don't consider Al's feelings much."

"What are you talking about?" Sam sputtered. "Everything I've done is for Al!"

"You've made all these decisions, but have you ever asked Al what he _wants_?"

"He does the same...he made my decision for me in 'Nam, to save Tom," Sam said defensively.

"And so the pattern of your life together goes, on and on. You chose Al over your wife," Pfain noted, a seeming non-sequitur. "He knows this, doesn't he?"

"Yeah, he knows."

"Do you want to know why Al isn't here, Sam?"

"I thought it was because I didn't want him to be," he answered, with a touch of sarcasm.

"That's the spiritual reason, I'm talking about the physical reason," Pfain said impatiently.

"Yes," Sam said, sensing he had to answer before Pfain would continue.

"Like last time, there's no one in the Waiting Room, and they can't find you. Only this time, they might not."

"Ever?" Sam whispered.

"A relative term. You told Al the bartender that Al would do anything for you. Are you very sure of that?"

"Certain," Sam said with a warm, reminiscent smile. "He's proved it. Sometimes, I feel like it's the only thing I can count on. That's why it's so hard, thinking about losing him."

"And if he can't find you any other way, he won't hesitate to use the Accelerator to get to your side. He'll leave his wife, to save you--as you did for him. The wife you got back for him. The one you thought he loved more than anyone."

Sam's mouth dropped open in shock, and he gaped at Pfain as a million truths dawned on him. "He--" A smile lit up his face, like the sun. "He really loves me!" he beamed in happiness.

"Just because one knows some of the answers, doesn't mean life gets easy," Pfain warned.

"I know," Sam assured, unconcerned. "Al may not have answered as many questions for himself as I have yet."

"Yet?" Pfain queried, and grinned widely. "That's _our_ Sam Beckett. Well, you finally got the picture. Now you can go."

"Go where?" Sam asked, instantly sobered.

"Remember what I said when you walked in? This one's on me, kid. One chance. To do anything you want with it."

" _Anything_?" Sam asked, smile widening.

Pfain nodded. "Now get out of here. My shift's almost over, and Don's coming on. You don't want to be here when _he_ gets here."

"Thanks, Pfain," Sam said, shaking her hand enthusiastically. "I owe you one."

"More than one," Pfain mumbled long-sufferingly. "Be happy, Sam. That's what I want for you. Everyone deserves happiness and love--in whatever form it takes."

As Sam started for the door, he felt a leap coming on. He grinned at the bartender. "By the way, what's your last name, anyway?"

"Rhyder," Pfain answered. "It's pronounced Writer. Pfain Rhyder."

Fan Writer.

**the end**

1/8/94

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not European, and I'm not a red head. The bartender is more of a amalgam of all us fic writers.


End file.
